


What Remains

by havisham



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamlet and Horatio, doing what they do best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Remains

Elsinore was dark, a haunted place, emptied of its people, silent except for the sound of distant shouting. The servants and courtiers (what remained of them) avoided Horatio's eye as he made his way to the prince's chambers. His steps echoed on the flagstones, and he swallowed, unexpectedly nervous. He entered the prince's chambers cautiously. It was empty, the dust lay thick on all the surfaces. Old plates, crusted with food and empty flagons of wine were pushed away carelessly. The prince's clothes were flung about, on the floor and the furnishings. Horatio bent down to pick up a discarded tunic, severely black and plainly wrought.

“Where are your servants, where are your men, O Prince?” muttered Horatio, as he folded the tunic and put it away.

“I sent them away, and now they fear to come,” said a soft voice behind him, as the door swung shut. Hamlet looked worse for wear, his hair lank and unwashed and his eyes dull. It was clear that he had not shaved in days, for his chin bristled with the beginning of a pale beard. His sallow skin was marked by small bruises, barely healed. As he approached, Horatio could not help but shrink back. Hamlet stank of sweat, of spilled wine and something Horatio could not identify. If madness were to be determined by look alone, Hamlet was mad indeed.

And Horatio could not resist gasping aloud, to see such a change in his friend. It was a wrench, a shock to see Hamlet, once the toast of the town, the glass and form of fashion indeed, look and dressed so poorly; in stained linens and breeches that had been at least twice torn.

“ _What have you done to yourself?_ ” Horatio demanded, too shocked for discretion. He had always gone along with Hamlet, and along with whatever Hamlet said. Horatio never questioned any of his friend's actions – _for who was the prince and who was the commoner?_ Now at last, the last reserves of common sense broke through the habit of many years.

Horatio found that he was gripping Hamlet's left arm quite tightly.

But Hamlet, he was not daunted, and why should he be? For of all the people to speak to him this day, surely it was only good Horatio that meant him well. His face broke out into a silly grin and on impulse – the only thing he follows now – he kissed Horatio's cheek. The tang of wine lingered there.

“Do not worry overmuch, my sweet friend. I am not as mad as rumor suggests.”

“That is well, for rumor says you are very mad indeed,” said Horatio, sharply.

Hamlet's eyebrows, still elegantly shaped, shot up at this. “And you give credence to such a rumor now, even about those you claim to know best?”

“Indeed, I make no such claims,” said Horatio stiffly.

Hamlet replied, a malicious gleam in his eye, “And yet you come to my chambers, alone and uninvited,” and he leaned close to whisper, “If I was mad, could I not do you some violence?”

“You could have, and you could still.”

“ _No, I could not_.” A sigh escaped him.

Hamlet crept comes closer still, 'til they seemed to compete to breath the very same air.

Horatio persisted, asking “Why are you doing this? Your uncle cannot approve of this, nor your lady mother.”

“What do I care about them? I have a plan, that's true. I cannot describe it, not here, not now. But you, of all people should know why. You were with me, Horatio, when I saw the shade of my late father, who told me of his hideous imprisonment –” His voice wavered and then died away.

“I saw _nothing_ that night but the swirling of the mist. I saw no unearthly spirit nor--”

“Of course not, why should you see him?" Hamlet's face creased in distress, and he rubbed his temples, suddenly weary.  "It's for _me_ , all of it is for _me_ , for I am his _son_ , and I am the one with cause for _revenge_...” Hamlet broke off, muttering.

But Horatio cannot let it go, he cannot, he will not...

 _A decision must be made_ , he thought to himself. He watched as Hamlet paced back and forth, whispering words too low to hear.

Horatio sighed.

“What of your plan? Do you mean for us to _hiss_ at each other in the darkness?”

Hamlet stopped pacing. He regarded his friend with fever-bright eyes.

“No. Not to _hiss_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write a them doin' it, but then I realized that:  
> a.) No, Hamlet needs to get himself together first (thus it'll never happen)  
> b.) I am bad at writing that kind of thing.  
> c.) But it was going to _awesome_ because Horatio would find an _whole set of armor_ in Hamlet's bed -- to strengthen his claims of madness. Or so he says. Yes. Well.
> 
>  
> 
> Oh! And they were going to talk about not-yet-crazy Ophelia. (Poor Ophelia! Shanked by the narrative, as always.)  
> 
> 
> Apologies to Shakespeare. My attempts at antique English are laughable, _I know._ But _Hamlet_ is public domain now, bro. 


End file.
